


Room for improvement

by neutralgrape



Series: Press play don't walk away [2]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, First Time, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Parent/Child Incest, Playmating
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-11
Updated: 2016-08-11
Packaged: 2018-03-30 00:25:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3916297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neutralgrape/pseuds/neutralgrape
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carl's report card from play group had this to say about his progress: <i>Good presentation display, needs minimal prompting to communicate with verbal/nonverbal cues. Carl has not consistently paired with the same playmate or playmate pair, although it is still early for him to pick a partner. We suggest play socialization with more alpha playmates to give him more opportunities to pick from a wider circle of candidates.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Slots into [Helps to relieve the mind](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2807960).

Carl's report card from play group had this to say about his progress: _Good presentation display, needs minimal prompting to communicate with verbal/nonverbal cues. Carl has not consistently paired with the same playmate or playmate pair, although it is still early for him to pick a partner. We suggest play socialization with more alpha playmates to give him more opportunities to pick from a wider circle of candidates._

"So, a solid B for being awful picky, in other words," Rick summarized, grinning at him and waving the report card gently in the air at the dinner table.

"I'm not!" Carl protested, but his voice petered out on a whine and he couldn't find any more words to argue with. He was still kind of wobbly and out of it from play group, his whole body one big, gentle buzz, all his muscles relaxed and loose. He felt like he was floating, like his head was full of fluff and cotton candy. He tuned out the rest of the meal, hardly tasting his food, letting his parents' dinner conversation wash over him.

"All right, sweetheart, it looks like you're done for the night," Lori said at last, her voice breaking through his daze. She tucked his hair behind his ear and patted him on the cheek. "You look like you're gonna fall asleep at the table. Why don't you wash up and go to bed early. I'll save your leftovers for tomorrow if you want them."

"Okay," Carl murmured, giving in easily. Normally he'd whine and wheedle to be allowed to stay up late on Friday nights to watch TV, but that changed ever since he started going to play group. Now, all he wanted to do after dinner on Fridays was get in bed and stretch out against his sheets, roll around while he played back hazy memories of that day's play group in his mind. He pushed away from the table, suddenly eager to get to his room.

"See you in the morning, son," Rick said, giving him a wide smile and ruffling a hand through Carl's hair as he walked past. A thumb grazed against the back of Carl's neck, and Carl fought down a hot shiver at the feeling. He mumbled a good night to cover his reaction.

Upstairs, Carl brushed his teeth quickly and changed into his pajamas, rubbing his palms on the fabric over his thighs, still sensitive and tingling from playmating. He tumbled into bed and sprawled on his stomach, tucking his arms under his pillow and rubbing his cheek against it.

The smooth drag of the pillowcase on his skin reminded him of one of the two alphas he'd played with that afternoon, the girl. She'd pulled his head into her lap and let him press his hot face into her thigh while the other alpha dug his fingers into Carl's hips and tried to rut into him through their clothes. She'd curled over him, running her fingers through his hair and humming words of encouragement over the noises of the other kid, telling Carl that his hair was soft, that he smelled perfect, that he was so good, that he should pick her. It was so close to what he wanted, and she smelled so nice, and he'd whined, high and reedy, about to ask her for more, when the beta counselors had clapped their hands and called the end of play group. The girl let her hands drop away from Carl immediately, huffing out a pained sigh, but the alpha boy growled in frustration. He'd hunched over Carl harder for a long moment, pressing them back-to-front, hot and close. Carl's breath caught, not hating the feeling at all; but the girl slapped her open palm against the alpha boy's forehead and pushed him off and away in one big heave, and that was that.

Carl hadn't gotten around to asking one or both of them to touch the back of his neck. The beta counselors were always telling them about the "importance of communicating with your partner", urging them to talk to each other while they were playmating, but just the thought of it made Carl's face heat up in embarrassment. Usually he just bent his head to the side and bared his neck, trying to make his playmate understand, but they didn't always take the hint. One time, a counselor actually stopped them in the middle and didn't let them continue until Carl said out loud what he wanted the alpha kid to do to his neck, what he wanted him to say into his ear. Carl's voice stuttered and cracked around the words the entire time. That was kind of humiliating, but it had gotten him what he wanted in the end for a few blissful minutes, so he'd decided he wasn't too upset about it.

Carl hadn't summoned up the words or the courage to ask for it this time though, which was disappointing. He stumbled out into the waiting area when he saw his dad, and he vaguely remembered his mom telling him that she wouldn't be the one picking him up from play group today. Carl said hi to Rick, walking right up to him and maybe getting a little too close, but Carl had just been playmating and he hadn't really finished and he still wanted—his dad smelled so—

"Let's get you home, buddy," Rick smiled, reaching down to fluff the hair at the back of Carl's head, and Carl couldn't stop himself. He let his head tilt forward, and the hand slipped from his hair to the back of neck, warm and dry and so good, and he arched into it with a tiny noise. The press and drag of his dad's fingers made Carl feel like all of his skin was tingling at the same time. He wanted to chase the sensation down for a little while longer, but the hand on his neck turned into a friendly pat on the back, a signal to start moving towards the parking lot and home.

In the dark of his room now, Carl breathed hard into his pillow and lifted a hand from under it to ghost across the back of his neck. It wasn't the same, but it made him squirm hard against the mattress anyway. Next week, he decided, he would pick the same alpha girl as this afternoon, and he'd ask her to stroke his neck while she whispered things to him. A really tame request as far as these things went, he reasoned, and she seemed really nice; she'd do it for him. And maybe he could pick a second playmate, like the boy from today—or maybe someone else, Carl thought, stilling his hips for a moment, because the alpha boy had actually smelled kind of like old mustard—he'd pick another alpha, bigger than him, maybe, to help him onto his hands and knees and blanket him from his shoulders to his feet while the girl had her hands in his hair and on his neck, and while it wouldn't be exactly what Carl wanted, it would have to be close enough.

(But in the end, that was the last time he ever went to play group.)


	2. Chapter 2

Carl didn't really have the opportunity to miss his Friday group while he was on the run for his life. Every moment was about survival, whether he was running, or hiding, or fighting to stay alive with a bullet inside him. 

At the prison, after he had to—after Judith was born, after the people from Woodbury came to live with them, everything seemed to settle down. Life was still about surviving, but suddenly they had time enough to make routines, schedules, duties. Everyone there had their own role to keep the place running. Carl wanted to take his place at the fences and in the watchtower, doing his part to protect their new home, but Rick had other ideas.

Rick laid down his gun and decided to try his hand at playing farmer, dragging Carl along with him. Carl fought it for a little while, but he fell into the rhythm of it before too long. He even grudgingly started to enjoy working the small field with his dad every day, growing their food, taking care of the animals together. He liked that it gave him the chance to talk to Rick more, gave them the chance to bond and be closer in a way that Rick just hadn’t had the time for. The constant hunted look in Rick's eyes eased a little bit. Rick smiled more, and Carl always felt a little thrill whenever he was the reason why. Often, Rick would drop a heavy hand on Carl's neck, tell him _Good job_ , and that—that, Carl liked a little too much.

Rick had insisted on sharing a cell with Carl, saying that it was easier to protect him if he needed to. There was only one bed per room, but Rick had given it to Carl. He spread out his own bedroll on the floor, putting himself between Carl and the door. One morning, Carl woke up to find himself stuck to his underwear, sweaty and disoriented from dreams he couldn't quite remember but desperately wanted to. Rick wasn't in the room with him, which was strange—he usually woke Carl up every morning. 

When Carl found his dad already in the field, Rick's grin was warm as he teased Carl for sleeping in late. Still, Rick didn't quite look him in the eye when he told him it was probably safe enough at the prison for them to start sleeping in separate rooms. They were quiet when they went through their chores, hardly talking, and Carl felt his stomach twisting tighter and tighter as the day wore on. But at the end of the day, Rick still rubbed the back of Carl's neck and told him he'd done a good job, and Carl grasped onto that feeling with all he was worth, leaning into the touch hard as he felt the tangled gnarl of anxiety in his gut finally loosen.

That night, Rick moved his stuff to a cell further down the row. And the next day, he asked Carl, "What do you think of Daryl?"

 

 

 

A few days before their first scheduled playdate, Daryl wandered over to the garden. "Hey," he said, tossing out the greeting easily, setting his crossbow down and leaning it against a fence post.

"Hey," Carl said, aiming for casual. Next to him, Rick snickered, and Carl shot him a glare. Rick just grinned and nudged him in Daryl's direction with a hand on his shoulder; Carl went.   

As Carl approached, Daryl leaned over to rest his arms on the fence between them. "So," he said, voice pitched low so it wouldn't carry beyond the space between them. "I got a room ready for us a little away from the rest of the block. That way, no one’ll wander in by accident. I started calling it the Playground, but the little ones wanted in,” he grimaced. "So I had to call it something else. 'Study Room.' Nice and boring."

"Yeah," Carl muttered, looking down at his shoe as he scuffed a toe through the dirt while Daryl talked. He felt his cheeks warming up. Now that Daryl was right in front of him, he couldn't stop thinking about what was going to happen in a few days. He knew it'd be written all over his face, and he didn't want Daryl to see.

"Hey, c'mon," Daryl urged, and Carl glanced up. Daryl looked at him intently, searching his expression. "You're okay with this, right?" he asked quietly. 

"Yeah, I'm okay with it," Carl said, and he hoped Daryl wouldn't hear the little shake in his voice.

Daryl frowned a little, though, so he'd probably noticed. "Then are you okay with _me_? You can always change your mind, give your heat contract to someone else if you don't think you're gonna like being with me. I know I’m kinda—"

"No," Carl said quickly, and he knew his face was glowing a bright red by now. "I think I'll like it. With you." 

"All right then," Daryl said, smiling slowly, pleased. "Anything I need to know beforehand?"

"Hm?" Carl asked. "Like what?"

"Things you already know you don't like," Daryl said. "And maybe things you know you do."

"Oh," Carl said. He tried to remember other things in play group that he didn’t like, but he’d pretty much liked everything. "If...if there’s something we do that I don’t want, I’ll tell you," Carl said.

Daryl nodded. "Good. I’ll check in a lot, make sure you like what we’re doing. We’ll take it real slow. It’s been a while for the both of us, right?"

Carl felt his face, impossibly, get hotter. Daryl may not have fooled around with anyone since he went on the run, but it was hardly the same situation for the both of them. Carl thought about the kinds of things he'd done in group, with other alphas around his age, and how it must literally be kid stuff compared to what Daryl was used to. What kinds of things had Daryl done with other people? What was Daryl planning on doing with Carl when he got him alone for the first time, the day after tomorrow? 

"What about things you do like?" Daryl asked, interrupting Carl’s racing thoughts.

Carl hunched his shoulders a little, annoyance and guilt pricking his insides in a way he hadn’t experienced in a while, but was still familiar anyway. It suddenly felt like he was being coached by the play group beta counselors again. Why did he have to _talk_ about it? "I dunno," he muttered. "The usual things, I guess."

"Can you give me a little more to work with?" Daryl asked, the corner of his mouth quirking up. "You musta figured something out about what you like while you were rolling around with your little playmates. Anything?"

Carl squirmed, but Daryl just looked like he would wait him out. "I like having my neck touched," he confessed in a small voice. "The back of it."

"Nothing wrong with that," Daryl said, looking confused at Carl's reaction. 

"No," Carl muttered, "I _really_ like it."

"Huh," Daryl mused, looking him over carefully. His gaze dropped to Carl's neck. Carl pulled in a quick breath when he saw Daryl's hand move, thinking that he was going to—but no, Daryl just brought his fingers up to scratch at his beard while he studied Carl for a long moment, gaze assessing. "All right, then. Yeah, we can do that." 

Carl hadn't thought that Daryl would say _no_ , exactly, but hearing him say _yes_ made his breath come faster. 

“Anything else you think you’re gonna like?” Daryl asked again.

And Carl couldn’t help thinking about—no, not here, not in front of Daryl. “Do we have to keep on talking about this right now? _Here_?” he hissed, looking around a little wildly. He caught sight of Rick at the edge of his vision and snapped his head back to face forward, hoping that Daryl didn’t notice. 

“All right, all right,” Daryl said, holding his hands out like he was trying to calm down a skittish horse. “I just thought that it might be better to talk about this now, since no one’s around to hear. Might be awkward when your dad’s hanging around while we,” and here Daryl made some weird hand motions, but Carl didn’t catch them.

"My dad?" Carl stared at Daryl.

Daryl looked surprised. "Well, we won't be alone. He's gonna, you know. Chaperone."

Carl went cold, then hot. "He's gonna _watch_?"

"Well, yeah," Daryl said. "Didn't you have lookouts at your play group thing? Watching to make sure they didn't need to step in. Making sure you kept your clothes on and everything."

"Yeah, but they weren't—" They weren't _his dad_. Carl had always been able to ignore the group counselors. Apart from when they were interrupting him during playmating, he didn’t think about them at all. But Carl didn’t think about anybody like he thought about—

There was no way Carl would be able to keep it secret if Rick was in the room with him. It had been nice wondering what kind of playmate Daryl would be, but now all he felt was dread. 

The dread lasted through the next two days of chores and meals and fitful sleep. The feeling grew bigger and bigger with each step of the entire walk to the room with his dad. It filled his throat when he asked Rick if he really had to stay and watch. Carl was almost about to beg Rick to leave, was about to promise up and down that he’d be good, was maybe going to bolt out of the room, until Daryl slid his hand onto the back of Carl's neck.

Carl pulled in a sharp breath at the feeling, and his whole body lit up under that warm hand. Carl locked eyes with Daryl without really meaning to, saw as a hot spark of interest made those eyes darken. He could smell Daryl now, salt and leather, and he knew that meant Daryl could probably smell him too. Carl would later dimly remember losing his hat, but now he pushed forward into Daryl's body, focusing on the feeling of being welcome and wanted, and god, that felt good. Wanting someone who wanted him right back.

Instead of pushing Carl down onto the mattress and putting him on his hands and knees, Daryl let himself fall backward onto the mattress, hand leaving Carl’s skin. A pile of blankets and pillows left him propped him up so that he wasn't lying completely flat. He tugged Carl down onto him so that his knees splayed out wide on either side of Daryl’s legs. Daryl put his hand back on Carl's neck, and Carl whined a little, low and shaky. He curled his arms around Daryl's shoulders, tentative at first, and then outright clinging when Daryl just tugged him closer until they were pressed together.

They spent a few moments like that, just breathing heavily and looking each other over. Carl wanted...something.

"Aren't you gonna…?" Carl asked, twitching his head, trying to imply _put me on all fours and dry hump me_ without actually saying the words. 

Daryl huffed a small laugh. "Taking it slow, remember? No rush." He rubbed at Carl's neck again. "This okay?"

" _Yeah_ ," Carl breathed, arching back into it. Daryl made a pleased hum, licked at his lip a little, and Carl looked down at Daryl's mouth, tracking the motion. 

Daryl quirked his lips a little. "You want something?" he asked.

Carl's face burned. They hadn't even been doing this for five minutes and Daryl already had him figured out. "Do you want—" he tried. His mouth worked soundlessly for a moment. "Can we—" 

He stopped. He couldn't do it. He couldn't even ask for a stupid kiss. His voice dried up and he crumpled up a little, pulling away.

"Aw, 'm sorry," Daryl murmured, tugging him closer. "C'mere, I didn't mean to make fun of you.” He stroked his lips across Carl's cheek and along his jaw, and when Carl's breath hitched he could feel Daryl's smile against his skin. Daryl nosed his chin up so he could bury his face in Carl's neck and breathe him in deep. "Nice," Daryl rumbled, and Carl whimpered a little, even that tiny compliment sending a hot spike of need through him. He dragged his lips up Carl's neck, achingly slow, tongue flicking out only once, right behind his ear. By the time Daryl was hovering right in front of his open mouth, Carl was panting for it and ready to press their lips together in a clumsy kiss. 

Carl had kissed other kids in play group. It happened sometimes, but kids in play group tended to be more embarrassed about kissing than they were about rubbing up against each other. They stuck to dry, close-mouthed kisses, not much more than puckered lips and loud smacking noises.

This was nothing like that. Daryl did something to the angle of their mouths and suddenly they fit together, lips moving against each other in a better, wetter slide. When Daryl licked gently at the seam of his lips, Carl opened up with a moan that Daryl swallowed up with a smile. The smile turned into teeth nipping at his bottom lip, then another brush of Daryl's tongue to soothe the sting away. Daryl's tongue dipped into his mouth in shallow strokes, and Carl felt like he was being tasted, sipped at, again and again. He'd always thought that kissing looked kind of sloppy and weird, and it definitely was, but he wasn't expecting the way it made his stomach dip, made him ache for more.

But Daryl didn't let Carl have more. Every time Carl tried to grind down into Daryl's lap, panting and whimpering, Daryl gentled his mouth and stroked his hands up and down Carl's sides until he settled back down. After a few rounds of this, lasting too long and not long enough, Daryl pulled away slightly, just enough so that their lips were brushing as they breathed heavily together.

"I think that's probably good for our first time," Daryl said, and Carl started to protest, wanting to get back to the kissing, maybe finding a way to convince Daryl to let him rub up against him in his lap, but Daryl glanced up and to the side. "I think your dad's ass is probably falling asleep on that stool by now." 

With a jolt, Carl realized he'd totally forgotten that Rick was even there the entire time. He turned to look over his shoulder, afraid of what he'd see in Rick's face—disapproval, maybe even disgust, at how much Carl—but Rick was smiling a little, breathing through his mouth as he tucked a book into his back pocket.

Outside the room, the three of them standing around outside the curtain, Carl started to feel awkward again. “Thanks,” he said, somewhere to the left of Daryl’s shoulder.

Daryl just laughed quietly, and Carl jumped a little when he bent down and leaned in. But Daryl just pressed his forehead against Carl’s, didn’t angle in for another kiss. Carl wondered briefly if Daryl just wanted him to be the one to make the first move, but before he could sort out his racing thoughts and make a decision, Daryl settled a hand on the back of his neck and slid his mouth down Carl’s cheek, to his throat. He pressed a brief kiss against Carl’s skin, followed by a quick swipe of his tongue, there and gone. Carl let out a helpless whine, and Daryl ruffled his hair goodbye with a wide smile.

"So, Daryl?" Rick asked on the way back to their rooms. He set Carl’s hat back on his head.

"Yeah, Daryl works," Carl said, feeling the tingle in his lips, on his neck, and everywhere else Daryl had touched him. 

Back in his own room, Carl collapsed facedown into bed and clutched at his pillow, tired and keyed up at the same time. He knew from experience that the warm playmating buzz would stay with him until morning. He circled his hips into the mattress, wishing that Daryl had let them do more, regretting his insistence on going slow now that he had a better idea of what Daryl meant by it. He wondered if Daryl was thinking about him, too, stretching out in bed. If he was touching himself. Carl could tell he’d gotten Daryl all worked up in his jeans, could feel him hot and hard through several layers of fabric. He could _smell_ it. Carl had done that, just by sitting in his lap and letting himself be kissed over and over again. He felt at his mouth with his fingers. His cheeks and chin felt a little tender, his fingertips hot on his skin, and with a jolt of heat he realized that Daryl had given him stubble burn. _That_ was something he'd never gotten in play group. And he’d wondered what it would be like, kissing someone with a beard— 

He squashed the thought down ruthlessly. Daryl. He would think about Daryl. Who touched his neck just like Carl had asked, who’d told him he smelled nice, who kissed him, who _wanted_ him. Who was going to make Carl feel good and teach him how to do the same.

While Rick watched.


	3. Chapter 3

"Okay, new rule," Daryl panted against his mouth on their sixth playdate, tugging Carl’s hands away from the fly of his jeans. "Pants stay _on_."

"But I wanna _see_ ," Carl whined. He was hot and aching from all the kissing and touching, and he wanted more. He always wanted more. He twisted in Daryl's lap, hands caught between their bodies, trying to find some friction. Daryl let him grind down into his lap, smothering a groan into Carl's neck that nearly drowned out Carl's whimpers. Daryl was going to stop them both soon, if he stuck to pattern. In the few seconds Carl knew he had left, he wriggled a hand free from Daryl's loose grip and pressed his palm against the bulge in Daryl's jeans. He could feel how hard and warm Daryl was even through the thick fabric. Daryl bucked up into the pressure for a long moment, mouth open against his neck, heels digging into the mattress.

But with a hiss of breath, Daryl moved his grip to Carl's waist and pushed him away, introducing a full foot of space between their bodies. " _No_ ," Carl whined, too desperate to care about how pitiful he sounded. He held onto Daryl's arms, trying to use his grip to get closer. "Daryl!"

"Christ, kid," Daryl huffed, letting Carl inch closer after a moment. "What happened to taking it slow?"

"Going slow was your idea. And this isn't slow, this is torture," Carl protested, dropping his forehead to Daryl's shoulder. The overwhelming surges of desperation were fading away, leaving behind a familiar warm ache. "Can't we go a little faster?"

Daryl was letting them get a little further each playdate, but only in painfully tiny steps. The playdate before this one was the first time that Daryl had even touched his ass, a slow careful grope through his jeans that had Carl moaning into Daryl's mouth.

"How much faster are we talking about here?" Daryl asked, nosing at Carl's ear. He flicked his tongue out, licking a quick stripe along the edge, and hummed in smug enjoyment at Carl's gasp.

"Just," Carl choked out, starting to squirm again in Daryl's lap, "just, more, please."

Daryl slid a hand up Carl's back until it settled, heavy and warm, on the back of Carl's neck. "Like this?" Daryl asked, as Carl arched up into it.

"Nnnnngh," Carl moaned, shutting his eyes against the feeling, every muscle in his body relaxing at once. "Yeah," Carl panted, "yes, but. I want..."

"Yeah?" Daryl encouraged. "Tell me. C'mon."

Carl made the words come out between choked gasps as Daryl stroked his neck and tongued at his ear. "It's just, in group. The alphas. They'd, um, turn me over. And, you know."

"Yeah, I think I can guess," Daryl murmured into his ear. Carl shivered, torn between the embarrassment of having to say it out loud and the warm liquid rush of a hand on the back of his neck, hot breath in his ear, the hard bulk of Daryl under and around him.

"I want that," Carl whispered into Daryl's neck. "You haven't p-put me on my hands and knees, and I want, I want you to."

Daryl stilled, and for a moment Carl's stomach plummeted. Did he say the wrong thing? Was he asking for too much? Daryl moved suddenly, lifting Carl off his lap, and Carl was about to start apologizing as fast as he could, but Daryl spoke first. "Fuck. All right," he growled, voice tight. "Just a little bit."

Carl stared at Daryl, open-mouthed. "Really?" After so many playdates that were good but never quite enough, he wasn't sure that Daryl was finally offering this. Even if it was for _just a little bit_.

Daryl started to look uncertain. "Yeah? Unless you're not—"

"No, let's, I want," Carl stuttered, scrambling to all fours next to Daryl on the mattress. "Daryl," he panted, hiding his face in his arms. His heart was pounding hard in his chest even though they hadn't even started. He let his shoulders drop and his back arch, presenting himself. " _Daryl_." The position pulled at his muscles in ways that drummed up sense memories from play group. His body reacted automatically, tensing up in anticipation.

"God, you're sweet," Carl heard Daryl murmur, and he arched a little harder in response, a whine rising in his throat. Daryl rested his palms on Carl's hips, his touch light, as he settled in behind Carl. "I think I'm taller than what you're used to. You're gonna have to lift up a little." He tugged gently, urging Carl to tilt his hips up even more and bring his knees closer together to give him a little more height. "Carl. You okay there?"

Carl was breathing in huge gulps. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm really good." Just getting into this position for Daryl was making him so hot, so _hard_. Daryl's big hands on him, moving him around, felt amazing. He could feel the heat of Daryl's body, so close, and he wanted it on him now. But he wasn't sure how far Daryl was willing to take them today, and he didn't want to push for more if meant that Daryl would back off and slow them down to a snail's pace again. This was good, this was amazing, and even if Daryl stopped them now, Carl was pretty sure that he could get Daryl to let them get this far next time, too. Maybe even a little further.

"Carl," Daryl gritted, "can I—is this okay—" and he pushed forward until his thighs just barely brushed up against Carl's.

Carl's reaction was immediate and uncontrolled. His whole body jerked into the contact, pressing into the cradle of Daryl's hips so that he could feel Daryl's hard, clothed dick against his ass, finally. They both groaned out loud, and Daryl's grip tightened. " _Yes_ ," Carl whined, so Daryl would know this was very, very okay. All his determination not to push Daryl went out the window, replaced by the wild need to get Daryl on him, over him, in him. "Yes, do it, _more,_ " he begged, grinding against Daryl, bracing his hands on the mattress.

"Fuck," Daryl bit out, his scent spiking in the close air of the room. Carl opened his mouth so he could smell it better, taste the faint tang of it on his tongue. "Christ, you feel good." Carl moaned in appreciation, pressing back as Daryl rolled his hips over and over again. Even through their jeans, the pressure and friction right _there_ felt incredible, and—not that he had anyone but playmates his own age to compare it to—Daryl felt _huge_. Carl's cheeks burned with how much he wanted it, and he buried his hot face into the blankets, his moaning muffled but still loud. Daryl lost his rhythm soon after that, grinding his hips in tight circles, his breathing tight and labored.

"I need—" Carl whimpered, "Daryl, I need—"

"You gotta say it," Daryl panted. "I can't—you have to tell me, otherwise—"

Carl's fingers clawed at the blankets. " _Touch me_ ," he heard himself say. Daryl made a hurt noise, low in his throat. He slid a hand off Carl's hip, ran it up the inside of his thigh, cupped a big hand around him through his jeans, the heel of his hand pressing up against the head of his dick, and Carl stiffened up with a cry and came.

" _Fuck_." Daryl gave a long, shaky moan and rutted hard against him. Carl could feel through a haze of pleasure as Daryl bent over him so far that his breath hit back of his neck. Carl thrust back lazily, trying to be helpful, and Daryl's grip tightened as he shuddered to a halt. Carl thought he could feel Daryl pulsing against him, and he bit his lip, wondering what it would look and feel like without pants in the way. Eventually, Daryl slumped over him like his strings were cut, and his hands on Carl went lax, stroking instead of gripping.

The stool scraped along the floor in the corner of the room.

Carl flinched hard, and Daryl rolled off him quickly. Six playdates in, and Carl still didn't understand how he managed to forget Rick was sitting less than ten feet away—especially given how he was usually so tuned in to Rick's presence all the time. Rick's face, when Carl looked around, was strained and a little red. Carl saw Daryl's shoulders hunch a little, like he was expecting to get yelled at by the principal, and a sharp worry wormed itself into Carl's head: what if Rick called it off? What if he broke the heat contract because they were going too fast?

Rick blew out a huge breath, as if he'd been holding it in for a while. "I think I'd better move my chair outside from now on," he muttered. He leaned down and snagged a bottle of water from the floor. He tossed it to Daryl, then followed it up with the entire stack of cloths, which he threw directly at Daryl's face. They both laughed as the fabric fluttered haphazardly onto the mattress. "I'll be out here," Rick said, dragging the chair with him through the curtains and out the doorway.

Carl and Daryl used the water and cloths to clean up the mess in their jeans, backs to each other by silent agreement. They tossed the damp rags—a mix of cut-up t-shirts, handkerchiefs, and towels—in a corner of the room, Daryl grunting that he'd wash them clean himself. When they were both put back together and zipped up, Daryl tugged Carl in close with a hand on the back of his neck.

"That all right?" he asked in a quiet voice. "It wasn't too much, was it?"

"It was really good," Carl said, looping his arms around Daryl's body. "Really, really good. We can do that again, right?"

"I don't know," Daryl said, making a face. "Coming in my jeans was kinda gross."

Carl squawked in complaint as Daryl laughed, but secretly he agreed: even cleaned up, it still felt kind of swampy in his pants. Still chuckling, Daryl pressed his forehead to Carl's, then tucked his face down to Carl's throat. He took in a deep breath, and left a goodbye kiss there, with a little bit of teeth.

 

 

 

"You're not mad?" Carl asked Rick on their way back. 

"Nah," Rick said. "I remember what it's like. I'm not gonna be upset that you guys are, uh. Taking things further. As long as _you're_ okay with what you're doing together. I know Daryl's careful with you, doesn't push. You're the one that's been chomping at the bit," he said, elbowing Carl gently.

Carl flushed, but didn't argue with that.

"I think you guys probably need your space, so I'll start sitting outside." Rick scrubbed at his nose. Carl knew that Rick could probably smell him and Daryl whenever they were together. The smell was probably overwhelming in that tiny room, even when Rick was breathing through his mouth.

Back in his room, Carl drew the curtain across the doorway and crawled onto his bed. Instead of flattening himself to the mattress like he usually did, he tucked his knees underneath him, mirroring the position he'd taken with Daryl just minutes ago. He played back the memory of Daryl's hands on his body, moving him around, rutting against him. Daryl's deep, heartfelt moans, the broken way he said _fuck_ over and over again, the way he gave in so easy when Carl asked for it. Carl whimpered into his pillow, hard again even though he'd just come, even though his jeans were still damp and uncomfortable. God, he was just so desperate for it, all the fucking time.

 _I remember what it's like_. His dad's words popped into his head against his will, and Carl's eyes flew open as they finally sank in.

Carl's hips flexed, and suddenly his jeans were too tight and suffocating. He grappled with the button and fly, shoved his jeans down his thighs so he could touch himself with a gasp. Rick must have been someone's playmate too, long ago. He must have fumbled around with an omega, sweating through his shirt and cursing at the layers of clothing between them. God, what sounds did he make? What did he smell like? He knew that Rick would have been much younger, probably gangly and short, but Carl couldn't imagine it. In his mind, it was Rick much as he looked like now, and it didn't make any sense, but he didn't care.

Carl hardly ever let himself really think about Rick like this. It was dangerous, and wrong, and addicting. But, just this once, with the warm buzz in his skin and the sensation of big hands on him still fresh in his mind, with his body already presenting on the bed and his hips lifting up higher for an alpha much taller than him; just once couldn't hurt.


	4. Chapter 4

True to his word, Rick started parking his stool right outside the room. Carl found himself starting to miss his dad being there, but he stomped that feeling down. It didn't make sense, because he'd never remembered during any of their playdates that Rick had been sitting right there. Now, the only real difference was that sometimes, Carl and Daryl would be interrupted with a pointed cough from outside—not because Rick felt he needed to step in, but because he was letting them know that they were taking too damn long.   

Their playdates were every five days or so, not on any set day like Carl's playgroup had been. This wasn't just because no one really knew what day of the week it was anymore—Daryl also took patrol duty and went on hunting trips outside the fences. Daryl was the best hunter they had, and the steady of flow of small game that he caught helped fill out everyone's diet. But on days when the hunting was really good, he wasn't above keeping a small part of his catch to trade for those extra luxuries that were harder to come by.

One day, Daryl dropped by the field with a present: two pairs of mesh gym shorts. "Swapped some rabbits for them. They'll be more comfortable than jeans. Easier to wash, too," Daryl said, so proud of himself that his chest was puffed out a little.

Carl thanked him, feeling his cheeks warm at the gesture as he rubbed the fabric between his fingers. The shorts were green, the elastic a little worn, and near the hem was a faded school logo. The lettering was too worn away to read properly.

On the day of their next playdate, Rick had to skip out at the last minute to meet with people who were just returning from a supply run. Carl thought his dad might ask someone else to sit outside on chaperone duty, but he just waved Carl off to go meet with Daryl. "Be good," he told Carl, reaching over to twist his hat off-center on his head.

Carl ran off before Rick could change his mind. He stopped at his cell first to shuck off his jeans and change into the new shorts. After a moment to consider, he grabbed the spare pair to change into afterwards, and went off to see Daryl.

"Where's your dad?" Daryl asked, glancing up and down the corridor when he saw Carl coming alone.

"Supply group came back from a run. Looks like they found some pigs somewhere." Carl walked right up into Daryl's space until Daryl's arms came up around him. "Dad wanted to get them settled in, and I think Herschel's teaching him how to keep pigs alive. Until we eat them, anyway." Carl rubbed his face up into Daryl's chest, urging him backwards into the room.

"So we're alone?" Daryl sounded a little nervous, but he let Carl herd him toward the mattress.

"I promised Dad I'd be good," Carl grinned. Daryl let out a bark of laughter as Carl pushed, and they both tumbled down onto to the blankets, Carl on top as always.

The shorts were a little big on Carl, but that just meant there was plenty of room for Daryl to slide his hands beneath the fabric and up the back of Carl's thighs—tentative at first, then more sure of his welcome once Carl grabbed Daryl's retreating hands and shoved them back under the shorts. Daryl's hands on him through his jeans had been great, obviously, but feeling his touch through the thin, slippery fabric of the shorts—those hands on his skin—was amazing. Daryl's touch drifted from the backs of his thighs down to the inside of his knees, then up again to the curve of his ass, squeezing with both hands; then again, from the beginning. Carl leaned into every touch, opened up for every slow push of Daryl's tongue against his, but eventually the ache grew too insistent to ignore.

"Lemme turn over," Carl slurred while Daryl sucked a kiss onto his neck. He braced himself for some resistance from Daryl, knowing he always needed more coaxing to move things along, but to his surprise Daryl immediately started helping him get on his knees.

"Yeah," Daryl panted, hands everywhere. He got Carl up off his lap and turned around in record time. He smoothed his palms down Carl's upturned hips, rucked the fabric of Carl's shorts over his ass before palming it flat, over and over again.

Carl hitched his hips closer, trying to encourage Daryl to get on him, but Daryl was busy communing with his ass, or something. "C'mon," Carl said. "You gave me these shorts for a reason, right?"

Daryl laughed, a little hoarse. "All right, yeah. Let's mess up these damn shorts." He sat back on his heels, spread his knees wide, and tugged Carl back onto his lap.

Carl made a noisy, open-mouthed gasp. In this position, he could sort of sit down on the bulge in Daryl's jeans, rub his ass over and over against it. Daryl cursed, panting heavily against the back of Carl's neck. It made Carl whine and grind down harder, his skin lighting up even more at the contact. He could feel Daryl so much better now, getting friction _there_ , if he tilted his hips just right and pressed down hard enough. Carl wasn't sure if it felt much different for Daryl, still wearing jeans, but this felt brand new for him, even after all their playmating. And he just wanted more.

Daryl asked, shaky, "Do you want…?" Carl nodded eagerly, and Daryl reached down, palming his dick through the shorts. He wrapped his hand around him, stroking, squeezing—" _oh my god_ ," Carl whined, this was so much better than his jeans—and Carl came with a shout, writhing hard, caught between Daryl's big hand and his body, soaking the front of his new favorite piece of clothing.

"Fuck," Daryl groaned, "nnnngod, I'm gonna, can I—" Daryl tilted them forward a little. Carl collapsed the rest of the way down onto his forearms, all his muscles turned to jelly, leaving his hips tilted up to present. Daryl hunched his body closer, hands tugging Carl's whole body against him in desperate jerks. Carl's breath left him in short gasps, loud enough in his own ears to drown out Daryl as he muttered something unintelligible, quiet and intense. Daryl rutted against him, hips rolling over and over again until, with a choked-off cry, he shuddered to a stop.

They both collapsed to the mattress to catch their breath, after that.

Eventually, they dragged themselves off the mattress to clean up. Carl put on the clean pair of gym shorts, glad he decided to bring them. He wasn't wearing anything underneath, though—his damp underwear was wrapped up in the dirty pair, tossed on the floor for now. Standing in the middle of the room, he tugged at the fabric a little, trying to lift it away from his still-sensitive skin. He should have brought his jeans instead—putting on new clothes seemed like a waste, knowing what he was gonna get up to in his room right after this. "Just gonna end up leaving a mess in these too," Carl muttered, and immediately flushed hot—he didn't mean to say that out loud.

"Yeah?" Daryl asked, eyes going dark and interested. He pulled Carl in close, hands on his waist, and slotted a thigh between Carl's legs. Carl's hips stuttered against Daryl, the sensation bright and sharp so soon after coming. "Still want more?" He brought a hand up to stroke the back of Carl's neck. "Gonna rub one out in your room?"

Carl swallowed hard. He would probably have denied it, but Daryl's hand on his neck and Daryl's thigh between his own were making him a little bit brave, and a little bit desperate. "Y-yeah. I always do, in my room, after—" His quiet confession was swallowed up as Daryl leaned down and licked roughly into his mouth.

"God, the things I wanna do with you," Daryl groaned, nipping at Carl's bottom lip. "You've got no idea."

Carl jerked as a hot flash of interest shot through him. "Things like w-what?"

"Get us both naked, for starters." Daryl's free hand palmed his ass through the shorts and Carl's entire body strained towards him. In a daze, he realized he was hard again. He really didn't want to walk back to the cell block in damp gym shorts, and he opened his mouth to say as much.

"What else?" Carl asked instead, urging Daryl on.

"Get my mouth on you, everywhere. Here, and here, and—here." As he said this, Daryl's big hands moved to sweep a path down Carl's sides, thumbs easing between their bodies to press briefly against the stiff points on Carl's chest, then deep into the join of Carl's thighs; finally, his fingers swept over Carl's ass to come to a rest between, in the crease. Carl's face burned. "D'you touch yourself here?" Daryl's voice was low and sandpaper rough.

Carl shook his head, voice stuck in his throat just at the thought.

"No? One day soon, I'm gonna get you so fucking wet, kid." Carl made a strangled noise and jerked his hips up against Daryl's thigh, then back into the press of fingers. Daryl started stroking his fingers up and down, using the barest amount of pressure. "Open you up just like this. Get you fucking sloppy with your own slick. Put my fingers in you. My tongue."

"Your—" Carl went dizzy. Under other circumstances he might have found the thought gross, but here, now, with Daryl's fingers starting to circle his hole through the shorts, it sounded like exactly what he wanted.

"I wanna know what you taste like." One of Daryl's fingers started pressing in right at the center, and even though he was barely pushing in at all, even though there was a layer of fabric in the way, Carl felt himself start to open up around it. It felt like—it was—

Carl pressed back into the feeling with a low whine, but Daryl kept his touch light.

"Jesus, you're so good for me," Daryl murmured, and Carl started gasping for breath, reeling with how much he wanted it. "So good. Can't wait to fill you up. See how you look on my knot."

His knot.

Carl had started getting some basic sex ed in school once he presented as an omega, but the information that his teachers thought was appropriate for a class of pre-teens was unhelpful and vague at best. Mostly, he'd picked up bits and pieces of whispered rumors about mating that had trickled down as stories from classmates and their older siblings. Carl had believed everything he'd heard at the time, but now he knew that most of it probably wasn't true. Probably.

"Is it gonna hurt? Being knotted?" Carl asked, as the thought occurred to him. It made him slow down the roll of his hips, distracted now by uncomfortable thoughts. Daryl noticed immediately and stopped his teasing to ease his leg out and stroke Carl's back in long, soothing strokes.

"It can, sometimes, but not as long as we get you ready enough," Daryl said. He moved them around so that they weren't quite as wrapped around each other anymore, but Carl still stayed close in the circle of Daryl's arms. Daryl nosed at the top of Carl's head and breathed him in. "I'll be careful, I promise. I'm gonna make you feel so good, kid, get you so open and wet on my mouth and my fingers. You're gonna love it. I'm gonna make sure of it."

Listening to Daryl talk, Carl felt his blood start to pound hard again, but he didn't push for more."You're a lot more...more, today," Carl said, which didn't make any sort of sense, but Daryl got his meaning.

Daryl dragged his palms restlessly down the curve of Carl's lower back. "I can smell you so much better without the jeans in the way. You've got no idea what you do to me in these shorts I got you." He paused, lifting away slightly. "Is it too much?"

" _No_ ," Carl insisted, pulling Daryl back in.

Daryl's face broke open on a grin. "So you like the dirty talking, then?"

"Shut up," Carl grumbled. "Yes."

"Okay, okay, just makin' sure," Daryl murmured, going in for one last kiss.

 

 

On his way back to his room, Carl bumped into Rick.

His dad's eyebrows climbed up towards his hairline. "How long did you two take this time?" he asked, incredulous. "You're just getting back _now_?"

"Yeah, I know," Carl muttered. He made a beeline for his room and his bed.

"I thought I told you to behave!" Rick called after him.

 

 

Even after that, though, Rick seemed okay with occasionally skipping out on his chaperone duties. This meant that Carl could meet with Daryl more often, now that they didn't always have to factor in Rick's free time when they scheduled their next playdate.

Eventually, though, seeing Daryl twice a week stopped being enough for Carl. Whenever he didn't have any chores to do, he started making up excuses to track Daryl down while he had patrol duty. He walked the perimeter with Daryl, or brought him food when he was up in one of the watchtowers. Daryl didn't seem to mind the company, but Carl worried constantly about overstaying his welcome. He tried not to stick around too long, or seem too pushy. Eventually, Daryl took pity on him.

"My shift's over in a little bit. You gonna stick around until Glenn comes and lets me tap out?" They were in the tower, the roof shading them from the afternoon sun. Daryl started gathering up the food wrappers and empty can of peaches that Carl had brought. He'd let Carl share them with him, even given him the last cool slurp of syrup at the bottom.

"Sure," Carl agreed, always excited about spending more time with Daryl. Daryl smiled and went back to looking out beyond the fences, watching for walkers. Carl watched Daryl but tried not to be obvious about it. He wanted to touch, but he knew he shouldn't distract Daryl. He found himself inching closer and closer, just—bumping his hip up against Daryl's. Carl glanced up, and saw Daryl quirk the side of his mouth without looking at him.

Carl jumped as the metal stairs clattered, someone coming up to the lookout platform.

"Hey," Glenn greeted them as his head popped up into view. His smile turned sly as he took in Carl's flustered face and the way he was standing as far away from Daryl as the small space would allow. "Am I interrupting anything?"

"Nope. Hey, would you take care of this for us? Thanks, man." Daryl walked over and casually stuffed the handful of food wrappers down the back of Glenn's shirt, then slung his crossbow over a shoulder and herded Carl down the stairs as Glenn laughed at the both of them.

Carl followed Daryl around to the other side of the yard, sticking close to the building walls for the shade. "Are we going to see my dad?" Carl asked, not sure where Daryl was leading him. They were heading towards the field. "Did you want to see the new piglets?"

Daryl barked a laugh. "God, no. Just finding us somewhere quiet."

Carl flushed and gaped, suddenly realizing what Daryl was up to. "What... _here_? You wanna play outside?"

"Relax, I just thought we'd get in a little necking to take the edge off. You look like you're about to jump me any second." He looked around, satisfied with the spot he picked. It was a shallow alcove provided by the angles of the tall prison walls, cool and shady at this time of the day. He settled his crossbow on the ground and leaned back against a wall, letting his stance open. "This okay?"

Carl looked around, worried that they'd be seen, but he crept forward anyway, tempted by Daryl and the open vee of his long legs. He could hear the voices of people far off, the alcove shielding them from most of the noise. Even though there was no one in the yard behind him, anyone rounding the corner would see them immediately.

But, Carl realized, curling his fingers in Daryl's shirt, letting Daryl pull him in by a hand on the back of his neck, leaning up for a warm brush of lips—so what? Privacy was hard to find in the prison, and people walked in on each other all the time. He tilted his head back, a wordless request that Daryl obliged, licking into Carl's mouth with a hum. Carl's hat shifted around on his head a little when it pushed up against Daryl's face, but neither of them seemed to mind, and Carl lost track of time for a little while.

"Whoa," Rick yelped.

Carl jerked away from Daryl, his hat falling off his head. "Dad! We weren't—it was just—"

"Sorry!" Rick looked surprised and a little embarrassed, but after a moment, he started grinning. "Did you need me to stick around and chaperone?"

A burst of heat flashed through Carl, making him jerk. "Daad," Carl protested weakly, turning the movement into a crouch to retrieve his hat. He jammed it back onto his head, more tightly than he needed to, as if he could keep the sudden flood of thoughts from spilling out of his head.

 

 **  
**  
  
So Carl and Daryl started wandering off together between playdates, when both of them had time to kill. Carl tried not to get too handsy in public, but it was hard sometimes, when Daryl was telling him things, whispering low and dirty in his ear. Usually they pulled each other into whatever relatively private, shaded area they found first. If Daryl noticed that Carl picked places where Rick might be nearby, he never mentioned it.


	5. Chapter 5

"Wait—not yet, just, a little longer." Carl tried to press even closer, up on his toes so he could lean up and lick into Daryl's mouth.

"I've gotta get going," Daryl protested, but he stroked his palm up the back of Carl's neck anyway. 

"I woke up _early_ for you," Carl complained. 

Daryl huffed out a surprised laugh, and Carl nipped at his lip. Daryl took the hint and opened up for Carl's tongue, pushing gentle, greedy fingers into Carl's hair. He didn't seem all that eager to leave now, Carl thought, a smug curl of warmth blooming in his chest. Daryl was supposed to leave on a hunting trip, setting off early in the morning before the muggy weather got too hot. Carl woke up early just so that he could drag Daryl into one of their hideaways for a friendly goodbye grope before he left. It was just before sunrise, and they were probably the only two people awake in the prison apart from the tower lookouts. The damp morning air was chilly, and Carl was using it as an excuse to squirm as close to Daryl as he could, tuck his hands up underneath Daryl's shirt to open his palms flat against his skin.

Daryl tongued at Carl's lower lip. "You gonna go right back to bed after I leave?"

"Probably." Carl still had a few hours until he had to head down to the field and feed the pigs.

Daryl grinned. "Gonna go back to sleep?" A hand on Carl's ass pulled him up onto Daryl's thigh.

Carl's face went hot. "No," he admitted. He fought against the urge to press against Daryl's leg when he knew that they'd just have to cut this short soon. After maybe two full seconds of restraint, he caved and started to rub against the hard muscle of Daryl's thigh. They both knew he was heading straight for his bed in a few minutes—no harm in getting himself worked up now. 

Daryl dropped his face into the curve of Carl's neck with a pained groan. "I'll probably be back by the end of the day," he muttered. The hand on Carl's ass tightened for a brief moment, then slid a little further down. Carl's breath hitched and he rolled his hips down harder. "When I get back, you can tell me all about what you got up to today." 

Carl pulled away reluctantly, taking satisfaction from the way Daryl seemed unwilling to let go, too. Daryl adjusted himself in his jeans with a grimace, then picked up his pack and his crossbow. He leaned forward and pressed his forehead against Carl's. "See you soon," Carl said. 

"Soon," Daryl promised. He ducked down, and the stripe he licked up Carl's throat ended in a sucking bite. He snickered loudly at the indignant whine Carl made, then loped off towards the gate, setting out on his trip.

Carl watched until Daryl disappeared down the road, the sky still too dark to see much this early in the morning. He sighed and headed back to his room. He wanted it to be night already so he could play with Daryl again. Carl was going to be spending the entire day trying to ignore the hot ache in his body, thinking about how far he could take things tonight. 

Carl walked a little faster towards his room.

 

 

 

Daryl didn't come back that night.

 

 

 

It wasn't unusual for Daryl to spend a few days outside the prison tracking down a deer or boar. Some of the larger game knew to give the prison a wide berth, and Daryl sometimes had to travel farther to bag them. If he wounded the animal on the first shot and it sprinted away, he often had to track it for a full day before he wore it down enough for him to catch up. It was hard work, but the people at the prison needed food, and they depended on Daryl to hunt it down for them.

But this time, one day turned into two. Turned into three, then four. And Daryl still didn't come back. 

Carl worked in the field with Rick like he'd done for months. He fed and watered the animals, pulled weeds, checked the vegetables, tied stakes. He even went to Carol's school for the little kids and sat through some math and reading lessons. But for four days, he kept watching the road to the gate, willing Daryl to show up. When he could get away, he climbed up the tower so he could scan the perimeter, watching the trees as a terrible feeling tried to claw its way up his throat.

The other residents tried to reassure Carl, told him over and over that Daryl knew how to handle himself. After a few days, though, their words were colored with more sympathy than optimism. A little bit of panic, too: without Daryl, they'd lose a good chunk of their supply of meat. Carl couldn't spare a single thought about food, though. He switched between throwing himself into his chores and staring listlessly into the forest.

On the fourth day that Daryl didn't come back, Carl woke up with a cold, rational voice in head whispering that he might have to find someone new to share his heat with.

His thoughts moved as sluggishly as his feet did as he trudged outside to the field. Maybe he'd ask Michonne, if he got permission to dig into the prison's supply of condoms. He didn't know the Woodbury people all that well, even after all these months, and his heat partner should probably be an alpha he trusted. Or maybe it would be better if he paired off with someone he didn't know all that well—that way it would hurt less if they went missing, too. Or maybe, he thought miserably, maybe he should ride out his first heat alone. It would take him a week to get through, maybe even more if he couldn't get any toys, but he wanted _Daryl_. Or, if not Daryl, then— 

Carl cut off that train of thought when he realized there was movement at the gate, voices raised and metal clanking. He cut away from the path to the field and ran to the gate, pulse thumping.

But it was a rider on a horse—Michonne coming back from a supply run. She'd left the day before Daryl, but she was actually coming back home on schedule: her trips usually took her away from them for longer stretches, sometimes a full week at a time. She was tired and covered in road dust when she heaved herself down off the horse. Michonne had a smile ready for Carl as he got closer, but it dropped off her face when she took in his expression.

"Did you pass Daryl out there?" Carl asked anxiously, hopefully. 

"No, didn't see anyone but walkers," Michonne said, and Carl felt the disappointment crash through him, filling his lungs with sand and making his eyes prickle. Michonne hesitated, seeing his reaction. "I came back the long way. There was a big herd north of here, and I had to circle around."

North. The direction that Daryl had headed. Carl crumpled, dragging his hat down to hide his face. He felt Michonne come forward to gather him up and rub a hand between his shoulder blades, tucking his face into her neck. She said something that he couldn't hear over the static filling his head, and Carl didn't bother replying. He couldn't speak. After waiting four days for any sign of Daryl, he finally felt himself fold under the weight of it: Daryl wasn't coming back. 

Suddenly, Rick was there, a hand on his shoulder. Carl made low noise and turned himself around in Michonne's arms to throw himself at his dad. Rick cupped a hand around the back of his neck and Carl just let himself feel it, tried to grasp at as much comfort as Rick was willing to give him, and shut out the rest of the world. Rick kept on a murmured conversation with Michonne over Carl's head, and his body shook with how hard Carl was shuddering against him. 

Rick and Michonne reached some kind of decision. Michonne pulled Carl out of Rick's grip with a gentle tug, and slung the long strap of a bag over Carl's head. It was one of the bags she took with her on supply runs, weighed down with something inside; Carl didn't look. Rick nudged him gently back towards the main building of the prison, and Carl went without a word.

Carl only realized where his feet had taken him when he pushed past the curtains and collapsed down onto the mattresses on the floor. He pulled the bag off his shoulder, knocking his hat off in the process, and pushed all of it out of the way so he could curl around a pillow. He pressed his nose into it to catch the last lingering traces of Daryl's scent before they faded away. He fell asleep trying to remember what it felt like to be with Daryl, safe in their room, the outside world kept at a distance.

 

 

 

It was close to sundown when Carl woke up to Daryl sitting next to him, eating a candy bar while reading a comic book. 

"Grabbed these from your bag, hope you don't mind," Daryl grinned down at him. "Does Michonne always save the best stuff for you, kid?" 

Carl flung himself on Daryl. 

In between wet, hitching breaths and the soothing stroke of Daryl's hands on his back, Carl managed to take in a few details: Daryl's slightly thinner frame under a new shirt, the rough drag of chapped lips along Carl's hairline, his voice a little hoarser than he was used to. Slightly damp hair and skin that smelled like the prison's soap.

"What _happened_ to you?" Carl asked, trying not to sniffle too pathetically.

"Bad luck and stupidity, is all." Daryl leaned over to snag a clean cloth from the pile in the corner, and gave it to Carl to wipe at his face. "Found a deer the morning I left. Shot it and chased after it for two hours before the arrows finally slowed it down. I was dressing it to take back home when I got sandwiched between two herds of walkers." Daryl scowled. "I was so puffed up at finishing a hunt early that I wasn't paying attention. Tried to run but I was blocked in, so I ran up a tree to get away from them. I was stuck there for _days_. Lucky for me I'd brought some water along." As if reminded, Daryl took a sip from a large bottle of water he'd pulled from somewhere, then offered it to Carl. 

Carl took a gulp as he watched Daryl with wide eyes. "How'd you get down, then? How'd you get back?"

"Michonne and Glenn found me. Drove the prison bus right into the herd below me," Daryl said. He swept an arm straight out to illustrate. "Mowed them down like grass. They got the bus close enough for me jump down onto the top and climb in through the emergency hatch. We just got back a little while ago." He sighed. "Walkers got my deer, though."

Carl clung to him, breathing him in, letting the relief wash away the past four days.

"First thing I did when I got back was get some food and water. When the relief wore off, and the smell kicked in, everyone made me wash off in the showers and borrow some clean clothes before I could come down to the cells." Daryl gestured at himself—he was wearing someone else's T-shirt and sweatpants, Carl noticed suddenly. "I looked for you down at the field and in your room, but you weren't there."

"So then you came down here," Carl finished. Daryl nodded. "Where you immediately started eating my candy."

The surprised laughter burst out of Daryl. "Technically, Michonne got it on her run, so really it belongs to the whole com—" 

Carl leaned over and shut him up with a demanding press of lips. He tasted chocolate as Daryl responded immediately and opened up when Carl tried to lick inside. Carl pulled at Daryl's shoulders to move him, wanting to feel Daryl's bulk on top of him, feel the solid proof that he was here, _alive_. Daryl followed him down, putting his weight on his elbows and mouthing at Carl's neck below him.

"You missed this, huh?" Daryl murmured somewhere below his chin.

"I missed _you_ ," Carl muttered, and pulled Daryl's head up so he could bite at his mouth.


	6. Chapter 6

When Carl woke up he was warm, and hard.

He blinked his eyes open, still only halfway awake. He was looking right at a familiar shirt, and there were arms wrapped around him. His legs were tangled with someone else's, longer and heavier, a thigh pressed between his own. He started to move against it sleepily, propelled first by lingering dreams, then by the twist of sudden heat and pleasure from rubbing off on another person. 

Carl panted a little. "Da—"

A mouth pressed down over his. Carl opened up and moaned against the tongue that flicked against his lip, stubble bristling against his cheek. He let himself be rolled over onto his back, spread his knees easily around the bulk of the body on top of him. When he rolled their hips together, Carl broke the kiss to moan, voice cracking with how good it was, finally, how much he wanted his— 

"Mornin'," Daryl murmured, and Carl jerked completely awake.

"Daryl," Carl said, blank. Then, " _Daryl_ ," and he wrapped his arms around around Daryl's neck and clutched at him. Too tightly, but Daryl just laughed, sounding only a little bit strangled. 

"Yeah, that's me," Daryl wheezed. Carl loosened his arms, but Daryl just curled around him even closer, pressing his face into Carl's neck. He sighed noisily, warm air bursting against Carl's skin. "This is nice," Daryl whispered. Carl squeezed his eyes shut and hid his face in Daryl's hair.

They hadn't played at all last night, the both of them too exhausted by the stress of the past four days. They'd curled up around each other instead, brushing their mouths together occasionally but mostly just taking a quieter kind of pleasure in each other's presence. Also, Daryl let him have the rest of the candy bar. 

Carl could feel the empty wrapper crinkling under his back with every breath. He tried to ignore it and focus on whatever this was with Daryl, but it was annoying. He reached underneath himself to yank the wrapper out, arching his back a little to make room for his hand, and ended up pressing his body into Daryl's. His dick jerked and suddenly Carl remembered what his body had been getting up to while he thought he was still dreaming.

Daryl sucked in a short breath as his hips twitched. "Still tired?" Carl asked, hopefully.

After a moment, Daryl said, "I'm up for it if you are."

"That's a yes, then," Carl said immediately.

Daryl smothered a laugh into Carl's shoulder. Then he dragged his tongue up Carl's neck.

"Ohh," Carl gasped. His fingers clutched at Daryl wherever he could reach, at his neck, his shirt, his shoulders. Daryl lined their dicks up and started a slow grind, and Carl cried out, breathless. _That was different_. Good, but…"I wish I was wearing my green shorts," Carl groaned.

Daryl moaned too. "Fuck, I missed those shorts." He thrust a little harder, and Carl whimpered at the too-tight press of his jeans against his dick. That slowed Daryl right down. He pulled away from Carl's grip and propped himself up on his hands to look down at him. "Everything all right?"

Carl squirmed, trying to relieve the pressure. "Don't stop! It's just my jeans, they're too…it's too…" Daryl dropped a hand to squeeze at his dick through the denim, and it was too good, it was too much. " _Daryl!_ " Carl shouted.

Daryl's smug grin shifted into something else on his face. "You're really…huh." He sat back on his heels. Carl made high-pitched protesting sounds, but Daryl shushed him with a hot palm running up his thigh. Then further up. The hand stopped at the button to Carl's jeans, and Carl held his breath, eyes widening. "I think you might feel better if we opened these up?" Daryl said, making it a question. "Pants stay on, though," he added quickly. "I think I might know what's going on." 

Carl had no idea what was going on. He wanted it anyway. He nodded quickly, _yes yes yes_. 

Daryl popped the button of his jeans and Carl's hips jerked up, the pull of fabric against his dick growing tighter. When Daryl started in on his zipper, Carl's head fell back on the mattress and he squeezed his eyes shut, panting. Daryl pulled his jeans open, and the almost-painful pressure gave way, the relief making Carl whine in the back of his throat. His eyes popped open again when Daryl tugged at his hand.

"Here, touch yourself," Daryl urged.

"Oh my god, yes," Carl hissed, shoving his hand into his underwear. He squeezed his dick and the hot, slightly sweaty grip of his own hand made him groan at the ceiling.

"Jesus," Daryl muttered. "Do you feel it?"

"Yeah," Carl breathed, sliding his hand up and down while Daryl stared down at him with that hot, hungry look that made Carl's pulse pound. This was so, so good. Carl was going to come soon. But. "It feels…why does it feel so…" Carl's hand slowed, then stopped at the base of his dick. _Oh_.

Daryl watched him carefully. "Carl? You okay?"

Carl hesitated. "I think…my knot popped?"

"I thought so," Daryl said. He settled back, giving Carl room. "You seemed a little too sensitive, just now. How's it feel?"

Carl touched his knot gingerly, trying to explore without making himself come. It was…weird. Alarming to know that his dick had suddenly changed shape, even if he knew it was going to happen eventually. The top part of his dick was the same, but now he had a knot. Not a big one, but it filled his hand a little more when he held it at the base. When he gave it an experimental squeeze, gritting his teeth to keep in the moan, his knot seemed to fill out a little more. 

"It's weird," Carl choked out. "Weird, but—really good."

Daryl was breathing heavily, almost panting. "Good. That's good. Uh, what," he swallowed, throat clicking, "what do you want to do? We don't have to play with your knot if you don't want to, if it's too new—"

"Oh no, we're definitely playing with my knot," Carl interrupted. "Can I turn over? Please?" They'd just started playing, but he was so close already…

Daryl groaned, looking uncertain. "You sure?"

" _Yes_."

"Fuck. All right." Daryl scooted back a little more, and Carl scrambled onto his hands and knees. He tried to get comfortable, but his jeans were in the way. He shoved them down his thighs. "Dammit, Carl…" Daryl sighed, and tried to pull the jeans back over his ass.

"My pants are still on!" Carl argued. It occurred to him just as he said it, and he couldn't believe he hadn't tried that line before. He tugged his jeans back down. "I still have my underwear on. You're wearing those sweats. We're still following the rules, right?" Carl dropped to his elbows to present, knowing he was playing dirty.

Daryl sucked in a huge breath and rested his hands on Carl's hips. "Fine. Just, lemme know if—"

"I know, I will, please just—"

Daryl pulled Carl's hips back with a grunt, and Carl's words melted into a garbled moan. He pushed back eagerly, trying as always to feel out the shape of Daryl's dick through their clothes. He set a fast pace to get them to the end as fast as possible, all his patience gone.

"Touch me," Carl panted. He pushed his underwear down in the front and tucked the elastic behind his balls. His dick swung free, bobbing in the air and slapping his belly with how hard he was. His knot was still popped, full and aching. "Daryl, come on, _touch_ it."

"Fuck, kid, you're so—" Daryl didn't finish the thought. He let go of Carl's hip with one hand and wrapped a sweet, tight circle with a thumb and finger around Carl's knot. Carl yelped and his hips rabbited harder, caught between trying to fuck into Daryl's hand or get Daryl to fuck into him. "Yeah, _yeah_ ," Daryl groaned mindlessly, letting Carl's knot pop in and out of the ring of his fingers, then squeezing it with his whole hand, _oh_ , a little wet from how much Carl was leaking from the tip—

Carl came hard, screaming a little with his face pressed into the mattress, heat bursting from his body and dripping down Daryl's hand. He sobbed as he jerked between Daryl's hand and the hard press of his body, trying to chase down the friction even though he wanted to cry from how overworked and raw his dick felt after coming. 

Daryl cursed and pulled away from Carl, letting go of him completely. Still breathing hard, Carl leaned up on an elbow to twist around and watch as Daryl shoved his wet hand into his sweatpants and started jerking himself off frantically. Carl couldn't tear his eyes away from the furious movement of Daryl's hand beneath the fabric, and he thought he could see the head of Daryl's dick where his wrist made the elastic gape open. He was so caught up in trying to look into Daryl's pants that he jerked in surprise when Daryl grabbed his ass and came with a loud moaned _ffffuck_ , shaking hard with the intensity of it.

Daryl collapsed onto his side, bouncing on the mattress and heaving huge breaths like he'd been sprinting. Carl stared back at him, the both of them panting hard, not saying anything.

Daryl grinned suddenly. He wiped his hand down the front of his shirt and reached for Carl, and they rolled into each other, laughing.

"Oh my god, that was so good," Carl gasped, as Daryl nipped at his neck. "Daryl, oh my _god_." 

"Yeah," Daryl rumbled, and Carl liked Daryl best like this, smug and happy and hands wandering everywhere. "It's gonna be even better, though. Soon, now."

Soon. Now that he'd popped an omega knot, Carl's heat could start at any time in the next few weeks, and he'd get to hole up in here with Daryl for _days_. He pulled Daryl into a kiss, licking into his mouth. They'd need to get cleaned up in a minute, and Daryl would definitely have to start getting back to fighting weight for his heat, but for now Carl lay there and let Daryl kiss him, all heat and promise. 

Carl sighed a little. Eventually, though, he had to get started on his morning chores down in the field. Rick needed help with the pigs today; they were acting weird.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (short chapter. just sadness and porn.)

The pigs started getting sick with the _flu_ , of all fucking things. The people, too. 

His dad.

Daryl volunteered to get the medicine for everyone who was sick, and Carl had to swallow down the the _no_ sitting on his tongue. It was too soon; Daryl had just come back after being gone for so long, he wasn't ready to be back out on a long run again, he couldn't—

Eventually, Daryl found Carl in their room. He lay down on the mattress next to him, pulled Carl close where he was lying curled up and silent. Daryl's mouth on the back of his neck was so gentle that Carl had to squeeze his eyes closed as hard as he could. 

"I'll be back. Soon as I can, I promise." 

"You can't promise that you're coming back," Carl muttered, quiet.

Daryl's arm around his middle pressed tighter. "Yeah. Sorry."

Carl swallowed, throat ticking. "You can't promise you'll be with me for my h-heat, either."

Daryl's breath hitched. "Yeah." He urged Carl to turn around to face him, cupped a dry palm around the back of his head as Carl settled back down. "Yeah. I know I can't promise I'll be back in time, that I'll—fuck. I'm sorry." He carded his fingers through Carl's hair, near his neck, and the feeling made Carl's eyes burn humiliatingly. "Carl, I'm sorry."

Carl let Daryl pull him closer until his head was tucked up under Daryl's chin. For a moment, Carl let himself feel exactly as miserable as he wanted to be, his chest tight at the thought of every terrible possibility that suddenly seemed so close, so likely to happen. 

Carl took a deep breath and let the moment pass through him. "When are you guys heading out?" His voice was thick, muffled into Daryl's neck.

"Real soon." Daryl's voice was quiet, too. "Everybody's getting their packs together and meeting at the gate in an hour."

_One hour_. That didn't feel like enough time. Carl pressed closer, glad that Daryl couldn't see his face right now.

But Daryl pushed him away. 

"What," Carl said, hurt and confused, until he felt himself pushed down onto his back on the mattress.

"I know it's not enough. It's not gonna be the same," Daryl said, confusingly. "But, if you want it, before I go, we can...I can..." He stopped, unable to get the words out.

Carl stared up at him, not getting it.

"My mouth," Daryl muttered, two fingers just barely tugging at the button on Carl's jeans.

"Yes," Carl said immediately, eyes wide. Holy shit. "Yes, yes, I want—if you—" 

Daryl ducked down to kiss Carl, brief hot presses of lips and tongue as they went to work pulling Carl's jeans open and down his legs. Carl dug his fingers into Daryl's shoulders, but tried not to push as Daryl started moving down his body. "I'm sure, I'm really _really_ sure," Carl said, cutting Daryl off as he opened his mouth to speak.

Daryl's huff of laughter was a warm burst of air against his belly button. Then he opened his mouth around the head of Carl's dick through his underwear.

"Oh, god," Carl whimpered. He let go of Daryl to pull the elastic of his underwear down, and Daryl backed off so they could both watch the embarrassing pop of his dick as it sprang out, uncovered. Daryl helped him anchor his underwear around his knees, and then he glanced up to watch Carl's face as he, _fuck_ , licked a slow, careful stripe up his dick with the tip of his tongue, dipping into the slit at the top of the stroke. 

"This is gonna be over real quick," Carl choked out.

"That's all right," Daryl murmured. Then he sucked Carl's dick into his mouth, loud and wet.

" _Daryl_ ," Carl gasped, voice breaking, his hips jerking up. His entire focus narrowed to the hot, insistent pull of Daryl's mouth tight around his dick. His body strained to get deeper as Daryl's hands under his ass urged him on. 

" _Ah_ —" The feeling of his knot swelling was familiar now, but popping it in Daryl's mouth was completely new. Carl panted frantically up at the ceiling, suddenly more sensitive, thrashing around a little bit despite his best effort to keep still, spine bowing as his heels dug deep into the mattress. 

Daryl pulled off with a groan and a filthy slurp. He flattened his tongue against Carl's knot, licking at it intently with short, hard strokes as Carl cried out helplessly, until he swallowed Carl down again.

"Daryl," Carl bit out, " _Daryl_ , I'm gonna—" Daryl hunched closer over him, sucked harder, and Carl's felt his voice get trapped in his throat. He came deep in Daryl's mouth, shoulders coming up off the mattress, whining brokenly and tugging at Daryl's hair with both hands. _God_. Carl collapsed back down, panting, and Daryl gave him one last suck that left him breathless at the sharp, too-bright sting of pleasure. 

Daryl pulled off. "Fuck," he moaned, his voice hoarse. He sat up on his knees and tore his jeans open while Carl watched, still dazed. Daryl fought with his zipper, then dropped back down and buried his face against Carl's neck. Carl's attention snapped back into the present as he felt Daryl drag his dick, huge and hot and _hard_ , against Carl's hipbone.

"Do you," Carl tried, "do you want me...to—"

"Just this," Daryl panted, lips moving down Carl's neck, smearing against his collarbone, "just like this." His hips worked in strong, deep strokes as he chased down his own pleasure against Carl's body. Carl tipped his head back and clutched at Daryl's shoulders, trying to remember this, the closest they might ever get to— 

Daryl gasped once and groaned, long and loud, and Carl cried out too when he felt a hot streak of wetness on his belly. He moaned again, shocked, when he realized it was the first time he had ever felt Daryl's come on his skin. Daryl sagged on top of him for a long moment, catching his breath, before he rolled onto his side next to Carl with a sigh.

"Was that all right?" Daryl grabbed a small towel and started cleaning the mess from Carl's stomach. 

"Well," Carl said, doubtful. Daryl's eyes snapped to his, worried. "You didn't even let me touch it."

Daryl's face relaxed into a relieved grin. "'It'?" he teased, done with cleaning and tossing the towel aside. "You mean my...crossbow?"

"Ew, gross. You know what I mean," Carl insisted. He rolled into the curve of Daryl's arm. They only had a few more minutes together, and he wanted to spend it as close to Daryl as possible.

Daryl pulled him close and laughed, but it was quiet. "Yeah, I know." He pressed their foreheads together. "Next time. I promise."

 

  
  
  


But then

the fences came down

and


End file.
